


Five Seconds In Your Heart

by cults



Category: South Park
Genre: Everyone Needs Therapy, High School AU, M/M, Slow Burn, Weed, and bottoms, and gets a lot of dialogue, but its really just the future, cartman plays piano, kenny is ambiguously genderqueer, kyle is troubled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cults/pseuds/cults
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A junior in high school, Cartman is more of a loser than he expected. Then he takes on a job that forces him to spend more time with Kyle, who he hasn't talked to in years. Not that Cartman gets any cooler because of that, but it is kind of a major event.</p>
<p>Title taken from the song "Five Seconds" by Twin Shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cartman grumbled as he leaned over one of a number of large plastic crates in the drama club's closet. His patience was waning. This was the third box he'd opened that didn't have a single costume in it. And this was not the star-bright junior year he'd imagined for himself.

"I can see your ass-crack," Kenny smirked.

"Shut up, Kenny," Cartman snapped, reaching back to yank up his pants while his face reddened. After he felt them sagging down again, and heard Kenny's barely-muffled snickering along with it, he spun around again in embarrassment.

"Don't you have some rocking chair to whittle or something, jackass?" he snarled. Kenny pretended to look offended.

"Don't stereotype. You know I'm doing make-up!" Kenny whipped out the make-up bag he'd brought from home, complete with brushes and remover. There was even faux leopard fur decorating the sides. Cartman glanced over it, unimpressed.

"Very funny. Like you're gonna spill your cross-dressing fetish without putting up a fight. The girls already think you're creepy as hell."

"Hey, I'll tell them it's my sisters or my mom's or some shit." Kenny cradled his bag like a baby. "Whatever. I like make-up. And just 'cause you hate yourself for keeping sundresses in the darkest part of your closet doesn't mean I have to hate myself for doing the same."

"Whatever. Where the fuck is Butters? Isn't that shit-eater stage manager this year?"

"Yeah, that's right," Kenny snorted. "Still won't do acting, even though you know it's what he stays up at night thinking about."

"Good," Cartman said, "I hope he sticks with the sets, 'cause his acting is fucking awful. If I get stuck with him as lead next year I am not gonna be happy."

Kenny barked out a laugh.

"Still telling yourself you're gonna be club president? Give it up, the vice prez this year, that junior with the funky hair, is gonna be president for sure. It's all seniority, and you don't have jack shit to stand on, considering you've never actually been in a play. Not to mention you nearly killed Clyde when you 'accidentally' gave him food poisoning, which is why they're sticking you with costumes this year and not on cast."

"Oh, come on," Cartman rolled his eyes. "I was his understudy, how else was I s'pose to get on stage?"

"He didn't even have a leading role."

"Whatever. I just needed to get my feet wet, is all. I wasn't asking much."

"They gave you a shit part 'cause you're a shit actor. Not much better than Butters here, are ya?"

Butters, who had popped up as if on cue wearing an oversized tool belt, laughed hesitantly as Kenny wrapped an arm around his neck and gave him a noogie. Despite Kenny being unusually short and scrawny (like a starving rat, Cartman liked to say), Butters remained shorter still. This seemed to give Kenny an impulsive need to tease him. Luckily, Butters still held Kenny in high regard, for whatever reason, and the two generally got along and were friendly.

"Well, h-hey there, Kenny," Butters struggled to get out of Kenny's hold. "S-so did you ever find that screwdriver I was asking about, fellas?"

Kenny gestured over to Cartman, who scowled. He'd completely forgotten to check for it.

"It's gone forever," Cartman snarled. "Go buy another."

Butters' face fell.

"Aw, geeze, Eric," Butters said, sounding worried. "You know I don't got a car or nothing."

"Then I guess you'd better start walking, Butters," Cartman said, inspecting his nails. "It'd be shame if the club president heard about how you lost the screwdriver."

"Oh, Jesus!" Butters said, glancing from Cartman to Kenny, who had a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

"Oh, yes, yes," Kenny said, clearing his throat and attempting to keep himself together. "It's all very serious."

"O-ok fellas, I'll go get right on that." With new resolve, Butters marched off to get to the nearest hardware store, only god knows how.

"I hope he's not actually planning to walk there," Kenny said, almost in disbelief. "Butters is the realest dude I know. Don't you ever feel bad for giving him so much shit?"

"You give him just as much shit as I do, if not more," called Cartman from the drama closet. He'd retreated there to dig around the boxes again. He might as well get a head start on all this costume shit so he could move on to bigger, better things. Things worthy of him, in other words.

"True," Kenny agreed. "At least I'm actually fond of the guy. You just sound fed-up with him most of the time." He strolled into the closet behind Cartman.

"Uh, that's cause I totally am. Shit." Cartman swore as he banged his head on a low-hanging shelf, but managed to emerge with a half-decent costume this time.

"Yeah, right," Kenny said. "If Butters wasn't around you'd have no one to talk about your weird Dancing With The Stars obsession with." Kenny laughed as Cartman chased him out of the closet, costume in hand. Cartman, predictably, quickly gave up.

"Aw, you're no fun," Kenny laughed, jogging in place.

"Okay," Cartman wheezed, "first off, it's not an obsession. And second, it's not weird." Cartman raised his nose slightly higher into the air. "I'll have you know that millions of people enjoy Dancing With The Stars every week."

"Yeah, all of them high school boys just like you!" Kenny said with an overabundance of fake enthusiasm.

"You asshole," Cartman said. He made another lunge for Kenny but was easily evaded. Instead, Cartman stumbled forwards, just in time for the door to the auditorium to open right into his face. He fell back on his ass and immediately brought a hand up to his nose as it started to sting.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry!"

Cartman opened his eyes to see Kyle momentarily poised above him, about to offer to help him up.

"Oh, it's just Cartman." Kyle withdrew his hand and Cartman frowned at him.

"Nice to see you too, Jew."

"Another Jew comment. Original," Kyle said dryly.

Cartman got back on his feet and brushed off his pants. Kenny popped up behind him.

"Sup, Ky?" Kenny and Kyle high-fived casually.

"Not much. I just came here to chew out this asshole," Kyle jerked a thumb over at Cartman, who still looked quite unhappy, "for telling Butters to walk to the nearest hardware store?"

"Yeah, so?" Cartman said flippantly.

"So, the closest one's in North Park."

"And?"

"And that's how many miles away?"

"You care about him so much, you drive him there. I've got actually important stuff to do," Cartman sneered.

"Like what, try on that costume?" Kenny laughed, gesturing to what was in Cartman's hands. Kyle stifled a laugh as well, in spite of his serious attitude. Cartman reddened.

The costume was a red dress, obviously meant to fit a feminine build by the shape of it. Simple and classy in design, Cartman had thought it would look good with an extravagant necklace or sleek heels. Now, remembering his own bulk, he was embarrassed to have even entertained the idea. Not that he would admit it.

"You're the only one it'd fit, shrimp," Cartman said defensively. "What're you, like, 5'3" now?"

"5'4"," Kenny said proudly, "and counting."

"Okay," Kyle butted in, trying not to smile so widely, and turned to wag a finger at Cartman. "But seriously. Don't be an ass to Butters."

"You just come in here to drama club, my turf," Cartman bemoaned, "and start telling me how to live my life? What're you even doing here? Don't tell me you marched all the way over here just to drive a stick up my ass about Butters."

"I came here to see you, actually, fat-ass, and to ask you something."

Cartman's ears perked up, and he grinned mischievously.

"Kyle, are you about to willfully indebt yourself to me?" Cartman batted his lashes. "Thank you so much for brightening my day, seriously."

"In your dreams, dude," Kyle sighed. "I don't care whether you follow through with it, but my mom asked me to ask you, so whatever. Ike needs a piano teacher, and she said she'd pay you $20 an hour." Kyle scratched the back of his head. "Not that I actually want you in my house more than absolutely necessary."

"$20? That ain't much," Cartman said, hmm-ing and haw-ing over the offer. "Can she hike it up to $50? To include damages to my own safety and wellbeing after being in a Jewish household for more than five minutes at a time." He smirked playfully, pleased with himself as Kyle went off on a rant.

"Oh, shut up, jackass. You're lucky she hasn't heard your anti-Semitic ass at work lately or else there's no way she'd offer you a job. Forget I fucking said anything. You'd be a bad influence on Ike, anyways."

Kyle stomped off, leaving Cartman to look over his dress once again. Kenny whistled lowly.

"$20 an hour, huh? That's not bad money. Some extra cash here and there couldn't hurt, y'know? Maybe I should teach the kid."

"Right," Cartman laughed, "I forgot about your awesome piano skills."

"You're not actually gonna turn that down, are you?" Kenny asked, looking at Cartman curiously. "Just think of all the ways you could ruffle Kyle's feathers with that gig."

"Hmm," Cartman said, mulling it over. "You're right about that."

"You could fuck with all his shit if he's not home. Steal his socks or whatever you jack off to in your weirdo fantasies."

"Oh, fucking sick, Kenny. Gross." Cartman made a face and pretended to puke. "Fucking gag me, seriously."

"Whatever, dude," Kenny said condescendingly. "It was only a joke."

Cartman glared at him and stomped back to the drama closet, where he laid the red dress on top of a cardboard box carefully, and then closed and locked the door. On second thought, fuck costumes. He was not going to deal with that hellhole of a closet right now, anyways.

"Let's go get McDonald's or something," Cartman muttered.

"Right on!" Kenny said, rubbing his hands together. "Hey, smoke a joint on the way there?"

"Not a chance," Cartman said. "My car is not getting hotboxed again. It smelt like weed forever. And besides, hotboxing makes me paranoid."

"Ok, new plan. Grab the Mickey D's, light up in my room. Deal?"

"As long as the mice at your place don't attack us as soon as we show up with a hot meal."

"Right," Kenny rolled his eyes, "I'll keep a leash on 'em."

The two gathered their things and strolled out into the high school parking lot, meandering this way and that before finally climbing into Cartman's old station wagon and speeding to the closest strip mall. On the drive back to Kenny's house, with a warm bag of fast food in his lap, Cartman thoughtfully tapped out the piano keys for Gymnopedie on his dashboard.


	2. Chapter 2

Cartman stared at himself in the mirror and gently tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. It bounced back out of place almost immediately. He groaned in annoyance and dragged his hands over his face. What was he getting so worked up about anyway? It wasn't like Mrs. Broflovski was going to take one look at his fat-ass and shove him out the door after practically begging him to accept the job offer on the phone yesterday. Sighing heavily, he nonetheless glanced at his reflection in the mirror again, and cringed.

Cartman clocked in at just around 180 pounds these days, which he didn't feel too bad about, honestly, considering his height of 5'8". Even so, Cartman wasn't stupid. He'd never gotten much attention from girls at school, and whether that was because of his looks or his attitude, the message that he was undesirable had still gotten through loud and clear. Along with puberty had come a feeling of awkwardness in his own body that persisted throughout most hours of the day. Not to mention the fact that his closest friends consisted of Butters and Kenny, both considered relatively unpleasant by most females at Park County High. None of this was very reassuring. And so Cartman had come to the not-unreasonable conclusion that he was objectively unattractive.

"Honey!" Liane called excitedly from downstairs, making Cartman jump.

"What, Mom?" he called back.

"Oh, sweetie," she said, appearing at the top of the staircase as Cartman stuck his head out of the bathroom, "I found your old keyboard! It was underneath a box of your baseball gear from when you were just a little kid! Look at this cute little hat I found." She bounced over and happily placed the baseball cap, which no longer fit, on top of Cartman's head. Cartman grimaced.

"Mom, seriously? I literally just finished combing my hair."

"Oh, I'm sorry baby. I just knew you'd look so sweet in it, I couldn't help myself." Liane smiled pleasantly. Cartman took off the hat and shoved it back at his mother, who took it graciously. He pulled back into the bathroom to fuss over his appearance in the mirror once again.

"Are you going somewhere special, sweetheart?" Liane asked, sneaking into the bathroom behind him and placing her hands on his shoulders. Cartman snuck a look at her in the mirror, her soft face agreeable as always, and scoffed. The spawn of a teenage beauty queen and a professional football player and he still looked like this. Talk about bad luck.

"Nowhere, Mom," Cartman grumbled, pulling away from her. "Over to Kyle's house. I'm teaching his little brother piano."

"Oh!" Liane exclaimed. "I'm so glad you're going to see Kyle again. Remember when you were younger, and it was always Kyle this and Kyle that. You should've told me." She reached over and started playing with Cartman's hair, arranging it this way and that. "I would've baked some cookies for you to bring over, so you could make an even better impression."

"I don't care about making a good impression, I just wanna get paid," Cartman snapped. "And the keyboard is useless now anyway, I just ended up practicing with the old piano at the high school."

"Well, maybe you can use it for practice next time."

"I doubt it even works." Cartman pouted.

Liane gave him a small kiss on the cheek and hugged him tightly.

"Well, either way, it can't hurt to try." Liane's phone alarm went off, and she sighed. "I've got to get to work. Are you all set for dinner?"

"Do we still have any frozen dinners left?"

"Yep."

"Then I'm cool."

"Okay. See you later, baby."

She hugged him one more time and left to grab her coat and car keys. Cartman breathed a sigh of relief. Taking another look in the mirror, he realized his hair was now perfectly in place. He almost shouted a thank you to his mother, but heard the front door slam shut. Then he smirked at himself in the mirror and briefly struck a pose that showed off his good side. Like he was going to show up at Kyle's house for the first time in god knows how long looking anything but his best.

Cartman frowned. Not that he cared what Kyle's impression of him was, of course. The Jew probably didn't know handsome when he saw it, anyways.

It was just the principle of the thing, really.

xxxxxxxx

Cartman stood in the Broflovski's hallway, hands held behind his back, trying desperately not to mess with his hair. His scalp itched. He'd been standing there for at least five minutes at this point. Mrs. Broflovski was fretting over something in the kitchen (Cartman swore he could hear her waddling) and had been the one to let him into the house, but he hadn't seen heads or tails of Kyle since he got there. Well, besides in the portraits that absolutely covered the walls of this place. Cartman snickered to himself after finding a particularly embarrassing photo of Kyle from middle school, with Jew-fro in full force. It was practically busting out of the frame.

"Eric, dear," Mrs. Broflovski called. "Kyle's bringing Ike home, I'm sure they'll be here any second. You can make your way to the living room, we've got his keyboard set up for you already!"

"Sure thing, Mrs. Broflovski," Cartman called back cheerfully, then muttered "Whatever, bitch," under his breath. Sticking his hands in his pockets, Cartman trudged to the living room. He stood in the doorway for a second, surprised at how similar it was to the last time he'd been here. When was that, four, five years ago? He hadn't intentionally stopped visiting. It was just the way it turned out.

Around middle school, the core four had just lost touch. Kyle's Jew-fro, true to the hallway photo, was sincerely a force to be reckoned with, and Kyle himself had become twice as volatile and hard to handle. A particularly gruesome fight between him and Cartman had resulted in both their parents deciding to separate them for at least some time. Rumor had it that the school had requested that Kyle, the instigator, attend anger management sessions.

Cartman walked over to the keyboard, set up off to the side of the room with two small stools behind it. He took a seat, sitting stiffly as he heard the stool creak under his weight. Tentatively, he settled his hands on the keys, pressing a few here and there, then switched it on and played a scale.

"Not bad."

Cartman nearly jumped out of his skin. Catching his breath, he looked up to see Kyle's lanky frame leaning in the doorway.

"Jesus Christ, what did you do, fucking tiptoe over here? Trying to scare the shit out of me?"

"You got me." Kyle rolled his eyes. He stood and walked to the empty stool beside Cartman, taking a seat. Cartman's heart quickened, and his eyes narrowed. What was the Jew's angle?

"Can't believe you actually took the job," Kyle said. He pressed absentmindedly on a few keys and fixed Cartman with a wry smile. Cartman blinked and jerked his own gaze back to the keyboard.

"Yeah, well. Jews giving away their money, you know. Had to see it to believe it."

"Oh, shut up." Kyle made a disgusted noise and shook his head slightly. "Anyway. Ike's upstairs. He'll be down in a sec. I just wanted to ask you if, so." He cleared his throat and leaned closer to Cartman secretively. "Maybe you could, uh, sell me some. Weed."

Cartman laughed lightly. Something about how serious Kyle was asking it, combined with his proximity.

"What's so funny?" Kyle said defensively. His brow furrowed.

"The straight-laced Kyle wants to buy marijuana?" Cartman said, giving Kyle a sly grin. "It's not just funny, it's hilarious. You bad boy, you."

"Dude, shut up." Kyle gave a still-laughing Cartman a shove. "Seriously though. It doesn't have to be that much."

"Why so desperate for dope, Jew?" Cartman said sweetly. "Resorting to drugs to deal with the oh-so difficult life you're living?"

"Wow," Kyle said, gritting his teeth. "I almost forgot how much of a total asshole you can be."

"Whatever. You want the weed or not?"

Kyle perked up.

"You'll sell it to me, then?"

"Yeah, sure," Cartman said. "I'll get back to you with the details." He waved his hand at Kyle in a shoo-ing motion. "Now get. You don't want your baby brother to see you soliciting illegal substances, now do we?"

Kyle made another face, obviously reluctant to do anything Cartman told him to. Nonetheless, he recognized that Cartman was right, and hearing Ike's footsteps on the stairs, Kyle stood and did an embarrassing quick-jog out of the living room. Cartman laughed to himself and swore he heard a frustrated groan in response.

Ike appeared in the doorway, carrying a small stack of piano books. He raised an eyebrow.

"What's with the goofy smile?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay. Red, pink, or purple?" Kenny said. He sighed, sounding bored, surrounded by countless purses, articles of clothing, and pieces of cheap jewelry. They'd been sitting in the hallway for a few hours already, sifting through the ancient contents of the drama closet. Kenny sat in a pretzel, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand as he rubbed at the bags under his eyes. It was Friday, so Cartman knew Kenny'd probably gone out drinking with his brother the night before. Thursdays were slow at the bars, and Kevin knew a lot of the bouncers. And it wasn't like Kenny was about to say no.

"Pink, definitely!" Butters said, eyes bright. Kenny held up the pink clutch purse, which was dotted with sequins of multiple pink hues and had a shiny gold frame. Cartman groaned loudly from where he was lounging on his side, propped up by a pile of old scarves.

"Hell no. Butters, have you even read the goddamn script? Alice wouldn't be caught dead with that piece of gaudy trash. She's classy as hell. It's got to be the red."

"Jesus, be a little more gay," Kenny said, rolling his eyes, but nonetheless held up the red purse, a subtle handbag with a small beige strap. Cartman nodded approvingly.

"That's more like it," he said.

"G-gee, I'm awful sorry about not reading the script, Eric," Butters said, looking grief-stricken. "I-it's just, they don't hand out copies to everybody in the crew 'cause of our tight budget, y'see-"

Cartman shook his head in exasperation and waved his hand.

"Save the sob story, Buttmunch. For fuck's sake, don't you have some boards to nail together or something?"

"Right-o," Butters said. With a new sense of purpose, he marched down the hallway to the back of the stage, his heavy tool belt nearly throwing him off balance with every step.

"That kid is not made for construction," Kenny said, and shook his head. Cartman smirked. "Don't look so happy. We're like, what, a month away from rehearsals? You're not even close to being ready."

"Oh, and you're like the king of deadlines all of a sudden? Give me a break."

"Oh, no. I don't actually care." Kenny inspected his nails casually, which he'd just recently painted black. With a protective layer of topcoat, of course (both polishes stolen). "Just wondering when you'd get the first costume done. So you can move on to the second. Y'know, out of 20?"

"Not like you can talk. You need to step up your game. I saw Heidi running to the bathroom after you were done practicing her make-up. She looked like a fucking clown." Cartman laughed to himself. "Stupid bitch."

"Real nice, Cartman."

Cartman nearly shouted in surprise, but instead only managed to twitch and upset a tall stack of shoeboxes, sending several pairs of heels flying across the floor.

"Goddammit," he swore, then whirled angrily to glare at Kyle. "You'd better clean that up, Jew. I see you're really growing into your sneakiness lately, by the way. Your Rabbi been giving you lessons?"

This was, what, the third time Kyle'd snuck up on him recently? Christ, Eric, get your act together.

"You are literally unbearable," Kyle said. Cartman spread his arms wide in a dramatic gesture.

"And yet. Here you are, bearing me. It's almost like… you need something." He hummed thoughtfully. "Whatever could it be?"

Kenny stood quietly, tiptoed closer and whispered in Kyle's ear, "The marijuana leaf… It's calling for him… Smoke me, Kyle…"

Cartman burst out in laughter as Kyle balked and pushed Kenny away by giving him a shove to the face. Then Kyle turned to Cartman, arms crossed, and Cartman suddenly saw a strong resemblance between Sheila and her son. How did Kyle manage to look like such a little bitch despite having three inches on Cartman? Must be his lean build. Lucky bastard.

"You could've kept it between us," Kyle said, looking miffed. What's that shit supposed to mean?

"Yeah, well," Cartman faltered, "I mean, whatever. Who do you think I get my shit from anyway?"

Kyle deflated, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"Oh. Kenny's your dealer?" He sent Kenny a disapproving look, prompting Kenny to raise his hands in self defense.

"My brother," Kenny clarified. "But I'm not opposed to inheriting the family business." He threw Kyle a peace sign.

"There you have it," Cartman said. "So now you don't have to see my fat-ass again, and you can get it straight from the source. Win-win."

Kyle frowned, and said nothing. He surveyed the hallway, eyes flicking from one sloppy pile of accessories to the next. Kenny was wearing oversized sunglasses on top of his head, a pair he and Cartman had found in the bottom of a box of fake leather. God knows what that was from. Cartman had a purple feather boa slung around his neck, and was wearing an old brown jacket mystifyingly emblazoned with the words "Best Tasting Hot Dog in Town" across the back. The zipper was broken.

"What the hell are you two doing, anyway?" Kyle said. He sounded tired. Cartman stared at him for a second, noticing the bags under Kyle's eyes. He looked even more exhausted than Kenny. In the short pause, Kenny's sunglasses fell off his head.

"Work," Cartman said. Kyle blinked.

"Of course," he said, and rolled his eyes. "Listen. After Ike's lesson tomorrow, we can. You know, do the exchange."

Cartman narrowed his eyes. Didn't he just give Kyle an out? What was that asshole up to?

"O-kay," Cartman said slowly, not taking his eyes off Kyle. Apparently uncomfortable under his gaze, Kyle stiffly waved goodbye to Kenny (who had picked up his sunglasses and was now wearing them over his eyes) and walked away.

"You guys are fucking weird," Kenny said. Cartman sighed.

"Yeah, right. We're the same as always."

"You don't seriously think that. You're awkward as fuck around each other. He stares at your eyebrow now, when he looks at you. If you didn't notice."

Cartman touched his eyebrow absently. His and Kyle's last fight in middle school had resulted in Cartman getting stitches, and later a small but permanent scar on his right eyebrow where the hair no longer grew in. Cartman had cried about it when they'd told him it was permanent, and filled it in with eyeliner for a few years before he got lazy about it.

"No, I didn't notice. I don't even think about that shit anymore, obviously. Like I care."

"Sure," Kenny scoffed. "Like you didn't cry over your lost beauty when it happened." Fucking bastard.

"Shut up, you poor piece of shit," Cartman growled, and hurled a fake pearl necklace at Kenny, which bounced off his sunglasses.

"Nice try. I wear protection."

"Whatever. You think me and Kyle are different? You should hear yourself. When'd you become such a loudmouth dick?"

xxxxxxxxx

Cartman cleared his throat.

"Okay, so, did you like, practice your scales?"

He and Ike were seated at the keyboard in the Broflovski household, getting ready for their second lesson. Mrs. Broflovski was out grocery shopping, and Kyle was up in his room, allegedly doing homework. Mr. Broflovski hadn't been home since Cartman arrived.

"No. Scales are stupid," Ike said bluntly. What a fucking pain in the ass. Cartman rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat to get a glimpse of the staircase; Kyle wasn't there eavesdropping. He turned back to Ike.

"Don't be a little prick to me, alright, Canada?" Cartman said harshly. "Your mom is not paying me enough to put up with that kind of bullshit attitude."

"What do you care?" Ike said. "You don't even have to really teach me. My mom went out and it's not like Kyle's gonna rat on us."

"Look, Ike," Cartman said, placing a hand on Ike's shoulder and affecting a fatherly tone, like he'd heard on TV. "Here's two facts for you: one, I get off on being in a position of power. So you're gonna fucking listen to me and practice your scales. Two, the piano is fucking badass. You know how much top concert pianists make a night?"

"No."

"As much as 100 grand. Maybe more."

Ike hesitated, brow furrowing.

"I guess that is a lot."

Cartman nodded enthusiastically.

"Right. Plus you can use it to express yourself."

Ike looked at Cartman in disbelief.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Well, you know," Cartman continued, glad he had Ike's attention. "Express yourself. Like, some people draw, some people play the piano."

"I don't do anything like that," Ike sniffed disdainfully. "I play video games."

"That's fucked. You need to do something creative to express yourself, or else you're gonna have all this pent-up rage and shit. Seriously."

"You sound like a therapist," Ike said. "Did they make you go to one, too, when they sent Kyle to anger management?" Cartman sneered. This kid was a pain. Probably as smart as his brother.

"Okay, smartass, so I went to a therapist for a few years. It ain't a fucking crime." He jabbed a finger at Ike and then down to the keyboard. "Now start pounding on those keys and express yourself already instead of taking out your teen angst on me through some bullshit psychoanalysis. You've got this dope-ass keyboard, put it to good use."

Ike sighed dramatically, but turned back to the keys and started playing. Cartman smiled, nodding. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Wait, wait," he said suddenly, interrupting Ike mid-performance. Ike glared at him and curled his hands into fists. "So they did," Cartman lowered his voice, glancing again at the staircase, "send Kyle to anger management."

"Yeah," Ike said. He sounded bored of the topic already. "But then right after there was this whole mess where they said that wasn't really the problem. So he got bounced around from one guy to another and then he went to this other guy for a few years, just a regular therapist. But that guy moved or relocated or something last month, so Kyle is seeing this new therapist who put him on different meds." Ike paused. "He hates 'em, though."

That stopped Cartman in his tracks. Kyle was on medication? Wasn't Kyle, like, moderately popular? Cartman'd never seen Kyle popping pills in the cafeteria, that's for sure. Not that he'd been keeping such a close eye on Kyle. Cartman had stopped watching his every move since the incident. He did seem kind of out of it lately, now that Cartman thought about it... But didn't Kyle get invited to parties and hadn't he dated a few girls already? He didn't exactly seem troubled.

"Can I keep going now?" Ike complained. Cartman snapped back to the present.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Ike resumed where he left off, plunking his way up A minor.

Cartman tried his best not to think about Kyle again. He glanced up from the keyboard and saw one of the many Broflovski family portraits hanging above him, everyone smiling. Kind of hard when Kyle's picture was slapped over every wall.


	4. Chapter 4

Cartman sat in his car in front of the Broflovski residence after piano practice with Ike, mulling over what he'd learned. It was a juicy bit of gossip; he'd never heard Kyle mention his meds before. And he'd never even heard a rumor about it at school. It had been an apparently well-kept secret until Ike went and blabbed with little to no provocation.

Cartman mentally kicked himself for admitting to Ike that he'd been in therapy. At least he didn't give him the whole truth; just some of the more benign parts. Still, if Ike was willing to give up Kyle's secrets at the drop of a hat, Cartman was going to have to oscillate between making sure the little shithead didn't squeal to anyone about Cartman's life and grilling him for more info about Kyle's. Like...

What meds was Kyle on? Did his therapists give him a diagnosis? Any of it could be perfect blackmail material. He could get Kyle to do… what exactly? Shit. He was so out of practice. Sure, he told Butters to buy him KFC unless he wanted Mr. Stotch to kick his ass for skipping drama last Tuesday (after Cartman told him to, of course) but besides that routine torment, and a few petty misdemeanors here and there, Cartman was not scheming on the daily like he was when he and Kyle were… friends?

Cartman glanced down at his phone again, staring at Kyle's text.

hey Cartman wait outside my house after the lesson ill come out to ur car

It obviously came from Kyle, but when his phone had buzzed with the message, Cartman hadn't recognized the number. When did the Jew get a new phone? Now Cartman scrolled through his contacts to replace the old number, but realized he didn't have Kyle listed at all. He scowled.

Still frowning, he looked up and squinted at the house's front door, tapping the steering wheel restlessly. After a few minutes Kyle emerged, tugging a thick dark green jacket on. Cartman stared at him, trying to pinpoint the differences between this Kyle and the one he'd played cat and mouse with for years as a kid.

Kyle didn't wear his green hat anymore. He hadn't since freshman year. Under other circumstances Cartman would've teased him for it mercilessly, but at the time, Cartman was still using make-up to cover his eyebrow scar and had just finished his first month of talk therapy. Any criticism of Kyle's fro had gone unsaid. At least Kyle, for his part, had gotten a haircut and kept his hair short ever since. A smart move, in Cartman's opinion, and probably not a coincidence that Kyle got his first high school date a week later.

Kyle was still a good student, one of the best. Cartman didn't care about grades and, if he was being honest, avoided doing well in school so he and Kyle wouldn't end up in the same classes. It's not like it mattered; Cartman didn't have enough money to go to college with or without some half-assed charity scholarship. It just seemed ironic that despite Kyle's good grades, he reliably got into a fight once a month until the end of sophomore year, thanks to a reputation for having a history of violence.

Cartman hadn't seen any of the fights, not in full, but once he'd been smoking with Kenny behind the school when they'd heard noises coming from the woods nearby. As they'd crept closer, Cartman had seen Kyle, nose bloody, land a solid punch to a guy's gut. Kenny had whispered, "Whoah," and Cartman had turned immediately and walked away.

Still staring at Kyle, Cartman realized that Kyle was staring back, impatiently tapping at the car window.

"You need to unlock it, dumbass," Kyle said through the glass.

"Sorry," Cartman said, "I Jew-proofed it earlier."

Kyle's face darkened, but he opened the car door and climbed into the passenger's seat wordlessly when Cartman did unlock it.

The two sat side by side in silence for a second. Cartman was surprised he couldn't find any words to say. Then Kyle cleared his throat.

"So. Aren't you going to, like. Start the car?"

Cartman's eyes narrowed.

"I'll just give you the stuff here. Don't tell me you think we'll get caught."

"Come on, you can't just hand it to me in my front of my house. My mom could get back any second."

"You are such a fucking nerd," Cartman groaned. "Why the hell are you more popular than me?"

Kyle looked taken aback, probably by the fact that Cartman was willing to own up to his loser status. He quickly recovered.

"We can bicker all you want, fat-ass, but we're not doing it while we're making a weed deal in my driveway."

Cartman glared at Kyle, who held his gaze for a few seconds before hurriedly dropping it. Cartman thought back to what Kenny had said the day before. Ugh. He groaned audibly and started the car.

Cartman drove them to the Tweek Bros. parking lot. Worse drug deals than pot probably went down here every day. Kevin had even sold Tweek himself an eighth here once. Poor twitchy jackass had been desperate for it, so Cartman had told Kevin to hike up the price and make a killing. He hadn't heard anything about it since, meaning Kevin'd profited off his advice and didn't want to share.

Typical McCormick.

"Alright," Cartman said. He'd parked the car in the farthest corner of the lot, right next to the dumpsters. "I have three joints for you, 'cause I figured you probably don't even have your own piece to smoke out of, right noob?"

Kyle colored predictably, and Cartman had to hold back a laugh.

"I was actually going to use Stan's bowl," Kyle snapped. Jesus, Stan? Talk about someone Cartman knew next to nothing about anymore.

"That pussy still eating twigs and fucking farm animals?" Cartman snorted.

Kyle leaned back in the passenger's seat and sighed, resting his hands behind his head.

"Well, he is a full-time vegetarian now."

"Ha!" Cartman laughed and rubbed his hands together deviously. "He actually committed. Great, now there's no two ways about it: he's a hippie piece of shit."

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"And you can say that even though you're about to give me weed?"

"Not give; sell." Cartman made a grabbing motion with his hand. "30 bucks. Gimme gimme."

"That's overpriced," Kyle grumbled, but still shifted to get his wallet out of his back pocket. He shoved the money into Cartman's hands, and Cartman passed over a small baggie with the joints inside. He stared at Kyle's face as Kyle opened the baggie and sniffed.

"Ew," Kyle said.

"You've never smoked before, have you?" Cartman said tauntingly, grinning with his eyes still fixed on Kyle. Kyle looked up from the bag for a second before his gaze flitted back down.

"Jesus Christ, Cartman. You're still such a little creep, you know that."

"Hey!" Cartman growled. "Fucking rude. I'm selling you weed, aren't I? What's your damage, shit-for-brains?"

Kyle scoffed.

"Oh, come off it, Cartman. Why're you always staring at me like that now?"

"Like what? I'm minding my own goddamn business. You're the one with the problem."

"Yeah, right. You stare at me like you're seeing a ghost or some shit."

Cartman clenched his teeth and, in a flash, had started the car, put it in reverse, slammed on the gas and backed out of the parking lot, way faster than was probably safe. As he pulled into the street, he stole another glance at Kyle, who looked scared shitless. Good.

"Yeah, Kyle," he spat. He was clutching the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles go white. "I'm acting fucking weird? You won't even look me in the goddamn eye. I thought you had a pair. Now you're too much of a little bitch to say what you want to me. What's with this weed bullshit? Like you care about getting high. Stop beating around the fucking bush and say what you mean. You think 'cause you kicked the living shit out of me one time, now I'm scared of you or something? Fuck you. I'm not scared of you. Get over yourself."

Kyle said nothing as Cartman drove too fast through South Park's main street.

"Is it because I'm shorter than you?" Cartman said.

Kyle blinked.

"What?"

"I said, is it because I'm shorter than you. That you're treating me like I can't take a hit?"

Kyle shook his head, exasperated.

"Every time I hit you, you'd start crying like a baby. And I didn't even hurt you those times. Then I… fucking lost it. Didn't I hurt you then?"

Cartman rolled his eyes.

"Of course it fucking hurt. I was in the hospital. But guess what? I waited around for an apology for a long time, and all you did was tiptoe around me and act too chickenshit to say a goddamn thing. It was like you were a different person. And I kept waiting for an apology and I never fucking got one. So I gave up."

"I was ashamed," Kyle said, "that I lost control and did that to you."

Cartman said nothing.

"I'm sorry, Cartman."

Cartman's old car, the dull red paint shining weakly, screeched to a stop in front of Kyle's house.

"Too fucking late. Get out of my car."


	5. Chapter 5

"So then he's all like, 'oh, boo-hoo, Eric, I'm like, sooooo sorry I hurt you, could you ever find it in your gracious, kind heart to forgive me?' and I'm like, 'hell no, gaywad, stop sneaking up on me and trying to make me teach your brother piano and shit'. And then I kicked him out of my car." Cartman took a long drag off his spliff and passed it to Kenny, then relaxed into the old couch and smiled lazily.

Kenny took the spliff and puffed twice, then flicked the ash into the ashtray, which was actually just a cracked mug. It was Tuesday night, around eight. Cartman, Kenny, and Butters were seated in Cartman's basement, Cartman and Kenny on the couch while Butters took the armchair. In front of them was a long, scratched wooden coffee table with more than a few watermarks. The couch sagged heavily with Cartman and Kenny's weight, but neither seemed to mind. Butters was curled up in his armchair, his eyes bright and oblivious like they always were when he'd been smoking.

"Wow, Eric," Butters giggled, "you sure showed him." Cartman gave Butters a tired glare while Kenny passed the spliff along.

"So let me get this straight, now you're, what? Never speaking to him again?" Kenny said. He yawned.

"Maybe," Cartman said. Truthfully he hadn't thought that far. His convo with Kyle had gotten a little too intense too fast. Cartman wasn't used to heart-to-hearts, and he was shit at them to begin with. He stared Kenny down, eyes narrow. "Why've you been yawning like that all day? You didn't even show to drama yesterday. You've been skippin'."

Kenny snorted.

"I've been working," he announced, taking the spliff back from Butters. "My brother got me a job at his friend's auto repair place. Under the table money, baby. No taxes for this bitch." He jerked a thumb at himself, puffing up with pride.

"Are you telling me that you care more about making money than putting on the best play in the history of Park County High?" Cartman asked. Sarcasm dripped off every word. Butters, probably too high to have any real idea of what was going on, nodded gravely, and Cartman threw a lighter at his head.

"Let me think: uh, yeah. Ha." Kenny and Cartman did a lame fist bump and laughed, Butters joining in belatedly.

"But seriously," Kenny continued, and gave him a look, "Back to the whole, y'know. Kyle thing." Kenny passed the spliff back to Cartman, who rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I didn't know it was a whole thing now. Thanks for cluing me in."

"Come on. You don't even want to talk to him? You could actually be friends this time. Instead of," Kenny waved his hands haphazardly, "whatever you were."

Cartman considered interrupting to assert that he and Kyle had, technically, been friends. For at least a few days here and there. From his perspective.

"Oh, yeah," he says, disgust in his voice, "I'll give good ol' Kyle a ring and tell him how much I miss him, and then me 'n Kyle'll just be all buddy-buddy, and we'll go grab Burger King after school and kiss each other's asses and everything'll be dandy."

"That sounds real nice, Eric," Butters said dreamily.

"I'm going to shove this lit spliff down your throat," Cartman said.

"I'm going to invite Kyle over," Kenny said, taking out his phone.

"Uh, what? Hell fucking no," Cartman said. He made a grab for Kenny's phone, just barely dragging himself out of his divot on the couch. Kenny easily kept it away.

"Hell fucking yes. Let's get him to share those joints of his."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Cartman groaned, weakly batting at Kenny. "I am a goddamn saint and don't deserve this."

"I could start by making a list of all the ways you've ever screwed me over, you asshole," Kenny said, "but I already pressed send."

"Oh, fuck you."

Kenny's phone blipped after only a few seconds, and Cartman read the message over his shoulder: 'is cartman cool with it?'

"No," Cartman said, reaching for the phone again. Kenny elbowed him in the neck and typed out a simple reply: 'ya'

He stuck his phone back in his pocket, giving Cartman a shit-eating grin. Cartman raised an eyebrow in return.

"How often do you text Kyle?" Cartman asked. He was suddenly suspicious. He hadn't even had Kyle's number until a few days ago. "Did you give him my number?" He lowered his voice. "You're planning something, McCormick."

"You caught me. It's my evil plan to get you two speaking to each other again."

"Seriously," Cartman growled.

"Ok. So I have been talking to Kyle about you lately," Kenny said, yawning again. Why was everyone always so goddamn tired these days? "Day before Ike's first piano practice. He was worried about the whole situation and I said he should try to, y'know. Talk to you."

"Why," Cartman said, teeth clenched, as Kenny typed another quick text to Kyle: 'bring joints'

"Honestly," Kenny ignored the question, "I can't even believe Kyle is bothering to apologize to you after so long."

"Excuse me?" Cartman said. Now Kenny was actually getting under his skin. "Are you saying I don't deserve an apology?"

"Of course you don't deserve one," Kenny scoffed. "Don't be such a dumbass. Just 'cause Kyle's been chill to you lately, doesn't mean you get off scot-free. There were weeks leading up to Kyle knocking you on your ass where you just wouldn't back off. You were pushing him past his limit and you knew it. Double the insults, double the racism. You started every argument and every fight. And you never let up. No one was surprised when he snapped."

Cartman blinked.

"Then why'd he apologize to me at all," Cartman said, only slightly confused, "if it's all my fault?"

"I know you don't understand emotions or whatever, but Kyle's a total martyr and actually feels really bad about it. Duh." Kenny paused, scanning Cartman's face. "And 'cause if both of you say you're sorry, you can finally wipe the slate clean."

"There's no way," Cartman said. He shook his head. "We can't be chill. Kyle hates me."

"Why do you act like you want him to?" Kenny said. "You know, before your big fight, for a while there we all thought you and Kyle would really get along. You two even spent time by yourselves. But it was like you couldn't handle that, so you made him hate you enough to almost kill you. And now he's trying to be cool and make things right and you can't handle that either!"

"No," Cartman said, "he's not making things cool. He won't look at me. You even said it yourself. He won't look me in the eyes."

"Jesus, dude," Kenny said. He ran a hand through his thick dark blonde hair. "What, you can't even talk to him unless he looks like he wants to snap your neck?"

"You don't get it. It's not like that with me and Kyle. It's either we hate each other, or nothing. That's why it's all fucked up that he's not acting like himself. He won't yell at me or anything, so we can't be around each other."

"He's still acting like himself. The only difference is he's trying to be nice to you." Kenny rolled his eyes, and muttered, "What is it about Kyle being nice to you that scares you so much?"

Just then Kenny's phone screen lit up with a response from Kyle: 'omw'

"I'm going to slit my wrists before he gets here," Cartman said. "Butters, go get me a knife. Butters?"

He and Kenny turned to look at the armchair, where Butters had his eyes closed and his thumb in his mouth.

"What a piece of shit," Kenny said fondly. In his stoned haze, Cartman wasn't sure who exactly he was talking about.


End file.
